“I like the message of it,” Kaz agrees about the song. He often leans towards large gestures to speak for himself, but that’s not something he expects or needs. It isn’t the only way to show affection. “Little things can speak volumes. Just showing up goes a lot farther than most people think.” Loyalty means so very much to him. He’s had people try and look out for him until their dying breath. There are people he’d do the same for now. Some of his dearest memories are simply sitting in silence with someone as the sun rises, or wolfing down meals in between heists. Giving a coat to someone who needs it. Turning up for a fight simply to have another’s back. Kaz certainly doesn’t need houses or sculptures, he can afford those on his own. What he can’t do by himself is think the world is better off with him in it.
What Max says sounds reasonable to him. Honestly, Kaz has only ever been attracted to two people prior to Max, anyway. He’s seen dancers or passing people and found them pretty or handsome, but genuine interest in getting closer to them has been an extremely rare occurrence in his life. Not dating around, given he’s yet to even have dated once, is slim to nonexistent. While it might seem swift to move into being exclusive, it isn’t a dealbreaker for Kaz. “That’s fine. I don’t date much,” he replies with a small lift of his shoulder, before pausing and admitting in a lower voice, “I’ve never dated, actually.” While Kaz scoffs at societal rules and norms, he’s also aware that such an admittance might seem odd to others. “There was someone, once, but we could never get ourselves together enough to make it happen.” He doesn’t really count Imogen back when he was fourteen, but Inej was different. There had been a chance of something once, and they’re still best friends even if their trajectories parted ways.
As the question is turned on him Kaz pauses again, giving it due consideration and flexing emotional muscles long since atrophied. The large potential barrier they’ve already covered, that Max would need to be patient with Kaz as he works through his touch trauma. “I’m pretty low maintenance, I think,” he says with a slight crooked grin. As usual the left corner of his mouth gets the workout, sliding upwards slightly and briefly. His fingers lightly drum on his cane’s handle, finding the solid metal soothing. “Processing time, I guess? I don’t do well with being thrown into an emotional conversation and having to hash it out right then and there. Sometimes when things happen, I need time alone first.” His natural instinct is to shut down and go into survivor mode, and nothing productive ever happens if he tries to have an honest vulnerable conversation that he hasn’t prepped himself to handle first.
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What Max says sounds reasonable to him. Honestly, Kaz has only ever been attracted to two people prior to Max, anyway. He’s seen dancers or passing people and found them pretty or handsome, but genuine interest in getting closer to them has been an extremely rare occurrence in his life. Not dating around, given he’s yet to even have dated once, is slim to nonexistent. While it might seem swift to move into being exclusive, it isn’t a dealbreaker for Kaz. “That’s fine. I don’t date much,” he replies with a small lift of his shoulder, before pausing and admitting in a lower voice, “I’ve never dated, actually.” While Kaz scoffs at societal rules and norms, he’s also aware that such an admittance might seem odd to others. “There was someone, once, but we could never get ourselves together enough to make it happen.” He doesn’t really count Imogen back when he was fourteen, but Inej was different. There had been a chance of something once, and they’re still best friends even if their trajectories parted ways.
As the question is turned on him Kaz pauses again, giving it due consideration and flexing emotional muscles long since atrophied. The large potential barrier they’ve already covered, that Max would need to be patient with Kaz as he works through his touch trauma. “I’m pretty low maintenance, I think,” he says with a slight crooked grin. As usual the left corner of his mouth gets the workout, sliding upwards slightly and briefly. His fingers lightly drum on his cane’s handle, finding the solid metal soothing. “Processing time, I guess? I don’t do well with being thrown into an emotional conversation and having to hash it out right then and there. Sometimes when things happen, I need time alone first.” His natural instinct is to shut down and go into survivor mode, and nothing productive ever happens if he tries to have an honest vulnerable conversation that he hasn’t prepped himself to handle first.